


Apples, flowers and ghosts

by springfield0773



Series: Drunken [2]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Flashbacks, Genderbending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Obsession, Read at Own Risk, Sad, Super fucking sad, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Love, fem!Damian Wayne, no beta we die like robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:34:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27121871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springfield0773/pseuds/springfield0773
Summary: A continuation of a fic I wrote sometime ago, Amber liquid.Basically it's about how Jon is not coping well with Damian's death.
Relationships: Clark Kent & Jonathan Kent, Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne
Series: Drunken [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976761
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	Apples, flowers and ghosts

It felt like a summer night, the air was humid, the sky was clear with not a single visible star that could outshine the light of the city, and even without the sun burning above their heads, it was hot. He could feel sweat falling on the side of his face, which was weird, since Kryptonians aren't supposed to sweat. In front of him, standing on the head of a gargoyle high upon a gothic building looking out to Gotham city skyline was Damian, whose figure was swallowed in the long ragged Robin cape, her green distinct ribbons blown vigorously in the wind. She looked small and Jon’s heart raced at an unexplainable fear that this god forsake city would devour her into its darkness the moment he blinked his eyes. 

“Damian, go back. It’s not safe there, you might fall.” He said, wanting to fly out and pull the other into a hug but for some reasons he found his feet glued on the terrace ground, his voice sounded like a whisper, easily dispersed by the wind. 

But Damian caught it anyway, as she turned her head around and asked. 

“Will you catch me if I fall?” The fear kept surging stronger from the pit of his stomach. 

“Damian please. I can’t move. Please go back, please!” He begged even when he couldn’t hear his own voice. His mind, his super power, super speed was focusing on the single task of reaching out for his partner, yet it was like this body wasn’t even his own anymore. Jon tried to look past the domino mask with his X-ray vision, to find a clue, a sign, anything that would tell him the bird was jesting, but to no use. “Damian, Dami… Go back please!” 

“Will you catch me if I fall?” And then the smile drawn on her petite face disappeared as fast as it arrived, as Damian slipped and fell, her hair discharged into the air as her ribbons flew away with the wind being the last Jon could see of her. 

Jon screamed with his whole existence and before he realized it, he had already broken through his paralyzied state and sped down, his mind blank saved for the sole image of the girl whom he spent nights and days thinking about, who broke his heart for the first time when he realized who was it hers was skipping beats for. He dived faster than the force of gravity could pull, but what greeted him was pure black void, the blinding light of the streets were gone, the building and its gargoyle was gone. 

Damian was gone. 

A droplet of sweat passed through his eye and burnt the pupil there, made him blink unconsciously. And when he opened his eyes again he was at the funeral. It was the same spot in Wayne's private graveyard. There was still no sun, not a single ray could pass through the thick volume of grey clouds above their heads. His feet were sinking a bit into the ground due to the heavy rain softened the earth. And he was wearing that same suit that was too tight and rigid. Only this time, the lid was opened, and Damian was lying in a bed of white chrysanthemums, her hands were put neatly on her chest, her skin clean and firm, but Jon could see through the layers of make up the bird would never wear before to the bruises and cuts underneath. 

Jon found his breaths stuck in his windpipe, his vision blurred and his shoulders heavy as if his bones had suddenly turned into the matter that builds the blackholes. 

In her coffin, Damian slowly opened her eyes and turned to stare right into his soul, with those orbs so green it was like an obsession, her lips that were painted red as blood parted and closed as she said.

“You didn’t catch me.” 

“I… I couldn’t… I told you I couldn’t move…” Heavy streams of tears were flowing down his cheeks. Jon moved a hand to grab at his heart in fear it would explode in any second. 

“You didn’t and you couldn’t, it’s all the same. 

You weren’t the one I wanted to be saved by anyway.” 

And all he could hear next was only his voice that was screaming broken, in grief, fear or anger, he didn’t have the mind to care.

* * *

Jon opened his eyes to the ceiling of his apartment, which was painted a graceful river of stars, the Milky way, right above his sleepy head. Across it was a flash of blue, slightly sparkled itself from the rest of the night sky, he remembered when being asked what it was, Damian had smiled down from where she was sitting on top of the ladder, colorful paints here and there on her beautiful caramel skin, and said one simple word: ‘You’.

Jon would have to have the thing painted over, the stars were getting a little too bright for his comfort.

“Wakey wakey Jonny boy~.” Sang a playful tone on the other side of his bed. Jon sighed tiredly, trying to hold back a groan at the back of his throat. At first he shut his eyes and hoped for the unconsciousness to take him back again, but after a good half an hour he gave up.

“Come on farm boy! Rise and shine~.” The tone sang again and Jon gritted his teeth. ‘Shut the f*ck up.’ He cursed internally, determined not to give the other the pleasure of his response. He forced his body up from his bed and walked to the bathroom, maybe moving a little too fast with his superspeed, using his whole being to not notice the figure in the corner of his eyes who was still lying on his bed, watching his every move with those brilliant, hauntingly green eyes.

Jon took a quick cold shower and brushed his teeth at the same time under the cool stream. Raven locks that were getting too long fell and stuck past his brows and on his eyelids. This time he would have to go to an actual barbershop, he thought. Then the annoyingly cheerful voice interrupted his peace yet again:

“I can cut them for you.” She said, moving slowly till her hands were placed on his broad chest. “Like I always did.” She looked up to him with a smirk, pressing her small and very naked body into his and Jon couldn’t help a whince.

“I can do so much more Jon.” The way she spoke his name was testing a new limit to his mental restraint, 2 fists balled on the sides of Jon as the other’s hands were starting to wander, tracing on his skin with her cold fingertips and down, down they went. 

He broke their contact before it was too much and practically ran for the door, blindly grabbed one of the towels on the hanger and roughly stuffed his face with it, only to be greeted with a far too sweet scent from that strawberry shampoo he had never used.

_ “Didn’t know you like strawberries.” Jon said, picking up the pink bottle in the carter. They were shopping at a nearby 24/7 grocery store. _

_ “I don’t. But seem like you do. Don’t think I missed how you took your sweet time sniffing this like a freak Corncob.” The smaller teased at Jon’s reddening cheeks. “I’m simply doing you a favor, since our Superboy thinks he’s too manly for strawberry scented hair anyway.” _

Jon had half the heart to just dumb the damn thing into the trash can, but decided against it since he was going to take it to charity anyway, so he hanged the thing back in place in exchange for his own mint-scent one. The vigilante made it a quick job to ruff his hair dry, ignoring the voice behind his back:

“Remember to throw out the toothbrushes and the Superman/Batman cups too Jon~ ”

Superboy’s breakfast, or rather lunch by then, sat quietly under his boring gaze in the shape of a sole red apple. The small droplets left on its shining skin from when he washed it had dried off for a while now while the ones on the young man’s still wet hair were falling from their tips, making small dark spots on his blue grey T-shirt.

“Wouldn’t it be fun if it grows legs and runs away after you’ve stared at it long enough?” A pair of hands wrapped around his shoulder and soft warm breath touched his ear making his muscles go stiff. “Or maybe it will sing you a song to remind you how good it used to taste, like those Disney craps you forced me to watch with you.” The laugh he once held so dear now pained him like knives that ignored his steel like skin and flesh as they went straight for his heart, grinded and dove so slow it hurt badly. Jon could feel his eyebrows knitting together, but he did nothing.

‘The air just felt bad, that’s all.’ Was the thought he desperately held onto.

“Still, you gotta eat it Jon. Doctor’s order~” The other leaned closer, intentionally pressing her chest against the back of his neck. Jon decided to channel his super hearing radio to anywhere but here, closed his eyes and let the upbeat sound of a fair somewhere flood into his comfort. People were laughing, children with their parents, brothers with sisters, friends with friends, lovers to lovers.

A crunchy sound nearby broke his focus and suddenly, his lips were touched by a softer pair. Superboy’s eyes went wide, mouth opened a little due to the shock letting the other’s warmth sneak its way inside, followed by a solid piece of something that tasted terribly like rotten meat flavored carbon foam. Jon immediately pushed away and spitted the thing out. But when he looked at it he realized it was just a bite of apple.

* * *

“How are you holding up, son?” Clark asked when they stopped for a short break at the Daily Planet building while patrolling around the city, he had tried his best to hide it but Jon could make out the hesitancy in his voice. It wasn’t en claire but the youngest Super’s relationship to the rest of his family has been put under an unspoken weight ever since that fateful day, when he began to put a distance between him and the world. His dad and Connor, sometimes even aunt Kara, have been joining him more regularly, like they were afraid to leave him alone. 

“Decent enough, I guess?” They had stopped for a late noon snack, their favourite hamburger and chicken nugget place, but Jon just didn’t have the stomach for them. So Clark was left to be the only one awkwardly with the bag of food in his hands. 

“Hey, you used to pester me for these all the time when we were patrolling before. Take a bite.” The man smiled and offered a piece of nugget only about 2 inches away from his mouth. His nose took one sniff, and the smell made him feel like vomiting on the spot. 

“No… thanks dad, but I'm good.” Jon pushed his hand away, careful not to touch the piece of food like it was something hideous. 

“Come on buddy, just one bite. Do it for your old man.” It took Superman back to the old days where he and Lois used to fight a battle just to get their toddler son to eat. He had to coax the child, fencing airplane, train, dancing around the cheering babe with his mother just to finish one meal. It was hard work, but he wouldn't have traded those days for anything in the world. 

But the Jon of the present wasn't a toddler at all. His son has grown too fast and too far away from them, even before this, when he made a mistake of letting his baby go with his psycho father. 

"I said no!" Jon raised his voice, slapping the nugget away with the back of his hand, his super strength made it fly out of the human eyes's sight. 

“Jon…” Clark was looking at the discarded food, then back at his son with a troubled look, like he was again taking the blame on his own. How could he not? It’s been so hard to talk to his own child again the way he used to do with almost ease. He blames himself every night he comes back home and looks into Jon’s childhood room that they keep the same as when Jon decided to move out as he reached 20, the moment Clark thought he wouldn’t have to worry about for at least a few more years worth of time. 

Of all people, Clark should know best. The day Jon came back to them, having grown into a fully 17 year-old teenager then rushed into the future with the Legion, he knew it wasn’t because of curiosity or the thrill, his son was just feeling out of place, like he no longer belonged in their world. 

But there was always a person who could keep Jon on the ground better than anyone else could before he flew too far away from them. They were best friends but Clark knew by the look in his eyes Jon wanted something more. And what could be a better cure for everything than love? Maybe he and Lois had put too much hope into it, because for a moment it made them feel like things were moving to a better place eventually.

But fortune turned its back on them, since this time, love turned into a toxic worst than Kryptonite or dark magic that was slowly eating away his poor child, and even being Superman couldn’t help him save his son. 

“Son, I haven’t seen you eat anything since… the funeral.” Superman said, feeling like he was walking through a kryptonite landmine. 

“We don’t really need to eat anyway… I’m fine, as you can already see.” Jon said, looking down at the street below them but not really focusing on anything, his eyebrows winced slightly.

“Jonathan, son, you’re not fine. Please talk to me.” 

“... Maybe some other time dad.” Jon said and flew away, leaving Superman standing alone on the terrace, looking helplessly at his back. He just wasn’t in the mood to talk, nor to deny. Especially not to his dad who can see through his lies even before he opens his mouth to say any. 

_ “You’re a terrible liar, Jon” Damian said with a wicked smile as she grounded up her trophies from across the table, which consist of 3 bags of chip, about 5 bucks with some cents, a blueberry ice cream box that probably need Jon’s super breath later, her utility belt and his Super belt, along with the privilege to choose the movies they were going to watch that night. “It’s so easy to tell when you’re gonna bluff. I don’t even know why you’re still trying.” Truth to her word, Jon couldn’t even remember if he had ever beaten her in a game of poker before.  _

_ “Maybe I just want to give you stuff.” He laughed idly and started cleaning up the cards.  _

_ “Ah yes, thank you for the generous supply of midnight snacks. You’re truly a giver as much as a sore loser.”  _

_ It was about 10 past 0 in the morning, they had just got back from an early patrol to spend a night, or the very start of a day, for themselves. They need it sometime, not surprisingly vigilante life is not all unicorn and rainbow, so moments when Robin would just ignore the police radio and Superboy would shut off his super hearing channel are precious. They’d always start with some trivial games to decide who runs movie night, usually it’d be Damian. She’d then choose a whole playlist, even though she knew every night like that would only ends at half the first movie, with 2 very restless Super kids snoring shoulder to shoulder on the sofa.  _

“Wow, poor Superman...” The voice snickered right beside him, even though he was far above the ground. It gave him an instant migraine, but Jon blamed the lack of sleep, just the lack of sleep. The sun above his head that was by then his only source of energy suddenly became annoyingly bright, the sound of traffic, the talks of people going about their daily life, Jon wished he could just shut them all out.

“You know it’s not like you to make him this worried, right?” 

And Metropolis just had to be so damn peaceful today. 

Just as he finished the thought, duty indeed called. His ears picked up a chaotic shooting some miles away and almost in a flash, he was there, in between the bullet rain and their supposed victims cowering at the foot of the wall and under tables. It was a bar full of men and some Jon realized was transgender men, it was a gay bar. He picked up the clues quite instantly and his eyes burnt a bright threatening red at the shooters who lost that confidence when they first stepped into the place with guns already loaded in the face of a Super. 

“Put. Those. Down.” Every word was a restraint he put on himself to not fry the criminals in front of him on the spot, his hands were balling tightly on his sides. 

_ “Don’t you think Raven is cute?” Damian just suddenly asked that one day, when they were watching the Titans sparring at the tower. Her eyes were focusing on the subject, giving off a look that was almost flirty. She wasn’t really asking for Jon’s opinion on Raven, he knew. It did catch him off guard a bit, but then again Damian did look the type to not regard gender when it comes to romance.  _

_ The day later they announced that they were going out.  _

_ Then they seemed like the most iconic lesbian couple for about 5 months and a half before Raven broke it up. The goth gave Damian some ridiculous reasons about her insecurity that Robin didn’t get and couldn’t stop brooding about for the next few weeks, but Jon knew, being a telepathic, that Raven then figured it out too.  _

_ The Bat’s prior relationships also ended in various ways, but the broken down unspoken reason was just the one. That was why Jon had never asked the other out, he didn’t want to be another item in the list that Damian would eventually move on from. _

The shooters didn’t even dare to open their mouth and slowly put the weapons down, eyes never left the hero floating just a few inches away from them. Yet there’d always be that one person who never knows when to shut their mouth. This time it was a white man with a torn leather jacket and catholic tattoos running up and down his arms, sunglasses on his head which was covered with a plaid scarf. A typical male Karen. He was shaking, but still held onto his gun and yelled weakly at Jon, trying to not appear so scared, like he was some hero standing up for justice.

“We are only serving to the will of god! You have no right to give us orders. These men have committed unforgivable sin and they deserve punishment in the name of Jesus!” Then he raised his gun and yelled, as if to seek support from his crew, but no one dared to move a muscle. 

“Sin? What sin? Loving the one they love and being themselves?” Jon growled, challenging the other man to be stupid enough to give the wrong answer. 

“That’s not the holy love that was given to us by god! That is just poisonous lust, Satan’s weapon against Go-” He didn’t get a chance to finish that sentence, as his face was smashed into the ground in a blink, breaking the concrete there, with the last thing his vision caught being a flash of red and blue right before his eyes. His skull definitely cracked, but there were still heartbeats. Jon didn’t even hesitate to raise his fist again thinking those were wasted on him since he couldn’t hear the beats in some of the bodies on the ground anymore. But just as he was about to hammer it down his hand was caught in a dead grip. Turning back he saw it was his dad.

“Superboy, that’s enough.” His voice was firm and his hold was hard, a warning. 

“He doesn’t deserve your save, Superman.” Jon shot him a dark look that Clark had never thought would ever come from his baby. And for a moment he was scared, not of Jon, but of what the path he was likely to walk on. “He killed. Look around you.” Superman didn’t need to turn his head, he had seen everything as he was flying here. “How long are you going to let these criminals walk the Earth, dirtying it?” 

_ ‘How long are you still keeping this planet the same place that killed her?’  _

“... We need to have a serious talk about this later.” 

“No, we won’t.” Superboy yanked his hand off and flew away, in the same flash he had come from. 

* * *

Rather than saying the night fell upon his room, it was the moonlight that shed its silvery rays like a blanket on his unmoving body, all the way down his wooden floor that was scattered with pieces of his Super suit. It was brighter than he had expected of the lateness, but he was too fatigued to move even a toe. Jon curled his knees up to his chest and lied on a side, staring with dead fish eyes at the electronic clock on the cabinet. There was a faint and disgusting smell of blood in the air, but he couldn’t work up enough damn to give.

When the digital number jumped to a set of 4 zeroes, he let out a long sigh and turned around to the other side of his bed. 

Then for the first time in the day, their eyes met. His blue clashed with her green, at least till they were pumping with salt water making a puddle on his pillow. For a while all that could be heard was his heartily sobbing and hiccups, if he tried to talk his words would be drowned and choked themselves in his throat. The whole time Damian just lied there, facing him with a sad look in her eyes. Every night it was like this. As the clock hit 0am Jon would allow himself a moment to stop pretending like she wasn’t there, like the ghost that's haunting him didn't look exactly like his Damian who used to make him fall deeper in love with her every morning waking up. 

Like she hadn’t killed herself and got put in a wooden box 6 feets under the ground.

“Why did you do it?” He asked when the skin around his eyes had already dried up with tears still sticking on them irritatingly. It was the same question, every night. “Why couldn’t you have waited for me, called out for me, talked to me?” 

_ ‘Why didn’t you let me save you?’ _

“It’s your fault.” Damian answered in an even tone, then she paused, smiled, and continued. 

“You wish it was your fault. But you know too well it’s not, don’t you?” 

The blanket of the moon was retreating from him, surrendering the boy once in its embrace to the hands of darkness. The cold shouldn’t affect him, yet it did. 

“You can keep telling yourself it was because you weren’t there when it happened all you want, but the truth is even if you were, you still couldn’t be my hero, Jon. 

That’s all you’ve wanted to be, isn’t it?

You want to be in the center of what creates me.

You wanted to be a part of my death so much you would rather be the cause.

But poor little farm boy,

I didn’t even think of you when I blew myself up in that hellish place.”

Jon squeezed his eyes shut as his heart was throbbing in a wrenchingly agonizing manner. Heavy droplets of tears were pouring out and falling freely down his sheet again while the other’s words cut through his flesh like a chef knife on the raw flesh of a salmon.

“You did your parts, you waited, and waited, hoping one day my heart would beat for yours, or you either move on. 

But now none of those options are available anymore.” 

“Why... are you saying this now?” The Super gritted through his teeth so hard it hurt. His hands flew to cover his pathetic face wet from all the crying. 

“... Because I’m just a figment your head created to cope with my death, Jon. 

I can only tell you your honest thoughts, the ones you like to hear to torture yourself.

Because the real Damian Wayne is dead, and can no longer feed you up with lies that she was okay.” 

* * *

It was the same Milky way as always that greeted him when he opened his eyes, only this time the bright sunlight from the windows he forgot to cover the night before outtrivaled them, making his ceiling feel more like just a ceiling with paints on it. Still he should put “having his room re-painted” on a memo note, so that he would actually see to the task this time. 

Today too there was a constant chirping of a non-exist little bird beside his ears, singing words with no meaning. 

His super sense caught a sweet scent of strawberry, weaker than the day before, as he entered the bathroom and went about his personal hygiene. Jon mentally added one more item to the memo note on his imaginating fridge. Then one more when he placed the Batman cup that he had picked up by mistake back to where it was on the sink. ‘What was the number of that charity association again?’ he wondered while brushing his teeth, noticing the reddish under his eyes reflected back to him in the mirror. 

His lunch was a new apple, but looked no different save for the lack of a bite on its side. Jon spent half an hour just sitting at the table looking at it, then put it back in the actual fridge he owns and dressed up in his casual clothes. 

He was skipping Superboy duty again for a day, stop listening to the world, or anyone else but Billy Joel on his player. Damian was commenting something, probably bashing his old-man music taste, but it wasn’t 0 in the morning. 

Jon passed by his once favorite burger place on the street, but didn't bat an eye at the big impersonated burger at the front of the store that he used to greet out of personal amusement. His steps were broad even though he wasn't feeling like rushing. The Super arrived at the florist soon after and as he pushed the door, there was a ringing sound of the bell hanging on it. 

"Welcome to Springfield' Bouquet! How may we help you- Oh hi Jon." He had visited this place enough to become somewhat of a regular, or to the over enthusiastic owner of this place, a friend. It's a small flower shop in the outskirts of the city, run only by this person and a student part-timer. The flowers are brought directly from Springfield's personal farm, which the owner takes great deal of pride in, so they're always fresh and have a surprising range of diversity. 

"Hi E." Jon returned the greeting, he didn't know the owner's name since all he was given when asked was just 'E'. This man can be a bit eccentric.

"How are the bluebells from last time? Do they sit well with the fertilizer I recommended?" 

"Yeah, they are thriving. Do you have any suggestions for a plant that would grow with them well?"

“Hm… Maybe snowdrop and winter aconite. I have some patches planted in the green right in the back...” The owner said and walked to the storage while Jon waited at the counter, then after about 10 minutes he came back with 4 pots of flowers of different colors in his hands. 

“Okay, so there are yellow and purple aconites, white and blue snowdrops. Pick your poison.” He said and laid them out before Jon. The flowers were fresh with droplets of water still on their leaves and petals. 

“I think I’ll take them all.” Jon decided, as he had thought the pots looked good together the instant he saw them. 

“Good choice as always. I’d do the same too with these beauties. One pot each?”

“Yeah, I’ll be returning for more.” 

When he was out of the store, with the flowers packed carefully in his hand, Jon walked into an empty alley and took off to Gotham. He tried not to use his super speed, worried that the fragile flowers might be damaged on the way. Jon flew across the gothic buildings that were a trademark of the place, he had always thought they felt a bit sorrowful, like the whole city is always mourning even in the face of the sun. 

About half an hour later he arrived at the Wayne manor, but didn’t drop by the mansion as he went straight to their graveyard instead. Lying there under an old oak tree that has been with the family even before Bruce was born was a small grave tomb identical to the many others arranged orderly, with the exception of flower beds of different kinds blooming around it. There were irises, lilies of the valley, white zinnias, forget-me-nots, christmas roses and now, snowdrops and aconites added to the collection. Jon crouched down and started by cleaning up the stone, even if it was spotless as expected. 

Craved in calligraphy beautifully on it was the name of the one person he loves the most. 

_ ‘Damian Wayne’ _

Jon smiled at the name, caressing it like it held everything that is dear to him. 

“Good morning Damian.” When he closed his eyes he could still hear her voice greeting him back as she sat on the dining table waiting to be served with his special pancakes.

_ “Good morning Jon” _ was the simple answer she always said. 

Yet in times like these, the annoying ghost just decided to disappear somewhere else. Which was good, he didn’t really fancy the image of Damian standing beside her dead bed, making sarcastic comments anyway. 

“Yesterday I almost killed a bad person…” Jon unpacked the flowers and started to work on them as he said, like telling a story to an old friend. “It’s funny because if you had been there I’m sure I would be the one who has to hold you back from decapitating the guy. I guess we will all change eventually...” The Super kept a convenient gardening set beside her grave so that he didn’t have to go to the manor for tools. He dugged up the dirt and gently placed the flowers in as he continued. “I still couldn’t eat today. Doctor Quinzel would be pissed on our next session, but then again whose brilliant idea it was to set her up as my therapist anyway? Sure she has skills but don’t you think she’s a bit murdery for the job?” As the flowers were settled in the earth Jon pressed the surrounding of the roots lightly to make sure they had adjusted in well enough. “Oh and Kon said the other day that I should get a pet or something… 

Maybe I should adopt Goliath… The guy is still feeling quite underweather if you could believe it. He’s skipping on his favourite fishes and not playing catch with the seagulls anymore. At least the birds of Gotham harbord can have the peace of mind now.” He said and laughed to himself, then moved on to the next patch of flower. 

“From last I heard, Alfred the cat is doing pretty well at Selina’s. Cats, am I right?” As he was working he noticed the zinnias were already starting to wither, maybe it didn’t sit well with the other flower that was planted after, he would have to ask E on how to reserve them later. 

“The others are fine too. They are taken care of very well in capable hands, you don’t have to worry about them.

Maybe when I’m ready I’ll adopt all of them, then move back to the Hamilton farm where I could raise them in a more spacious and quiet environment. I’m getting a bit tired of the city anyway… 

Of being Superboy too… ” His hands stopped mid way and for a while Jon just stayed still, like he had forgotten how to do the job he was just working on a few seconds ago. He leaned forward a bit till his forehead was pressed against the stone, closed his eyes and tried to not let the tears pour out for once in his life. 

“I miss you. 

God, I miss you so much.” 

Oh how he wished she was here to make fun of him and call him a Superbaby like she always did when he cried at soap operas, pinched his cheeks and laughed so hard her eyes were squinting. But that all only exists in his memory now, because she is gone. 

Damian’s gone. 

“I should have bought you flowers when I had a chance… 

Would our fate have been different if I had told you I love you?

Would you have stayed for me?” 

There was only silence that answered him, there would only be silence that answered him now, and Jon would never know. It’s a punishment he thinks he deserves, so that he could never forgive himself and move on. 

He doesn’t want to anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> Years of experience in being depressed af finally came to use lol.


End file.
